Safe Journey
by Greed Sennen
Summary: Years before the Conclave, before he had ever met Dorian, Azazel Lavellan loved another. When his Clan traveled along the Tevinter border for the Winter, they were attacked while he had been out hunting, and the Keeper's First had run off without him. Azazel had children to save and wolves to fight, but would it really be that easy to save a wounded halla in the process?
1. Burn

Azazel was out hunting when it all started, attempting to avoid his father's disapproving frowns and drown the memories of his mother's passing with the adrenaline that came from a thrilling hunt.

He watched his prey from the tree branch in which he perched, emerald eyes glittering like a cat's. They wouldn't give him away, not so high above his quarry at this time of night. Below him, the stag -not a halla, thank the creators- grazed gingerly on a small bush. Soundlessly, the elf reached for his quiver, an arrow shaft between his fingers. He ignored the itch of his fresh vallaslin, marks showing his connection to the guide of the dead. The arrow slipped quietly against the bow, both well oiled, and he took aim. The stag would never know. Falon'din would peacefully take it, and the clan would eat well tonight.

However, just as he went to release the arrow, a scream, harsh and shrill echoed through the forest. The shot went wild, and the stag bolted. The hunter gave up immediately, worry overtaking him and hunting forgotten as he leapt out of the tree, bow in hand. That sounded too much like Azni, one of the village elders for his liking. She watched the children most days, when their parents or siblings were out on hunts.

He quickly took off, darting through the trees and in the direction of camp while his ears strained to hear anything off. It was unnerving, the lack of birdsong. And often a bad omen.

Just as he was closing in on the edge of camp, he smelled smoke. Noise now assaulted his ears, more screams and the sounds of fighting. It hurt to listen, and his breathing sped up, fear overriding his thoughts. By the time he got there, the aravels were burning.

Several hunters had fallen, their blood painting the clearing. Some appeared to have fallen by blades, others crude clubs and arrows. Azazel bit back the bile that rose in his throat, covering his mouth.

It was then that he looked closer, forced to make his way through the corpses, when he noticed that some weren't members of his clan at all, but humans. The fear was quickly replaced by anger, and he remembered an argument with the Keeper the other day about camping so close to the Tevinter Imperium's border.

The Lavellans was a lot less isolated than some of the other Dalish clans in the Free Marches, so he grew up with a more positive opinion of humans. But during the Winter months, the clan traveled closer to the Tevinter border, and the risk of attack was higher. There were slavers in abundance throughout this area, the worst of the humans. Shemlen. It made his blood boil to realize they'd walked into an attack.

"Azazel!" He heard the shout of his name and realized it was Istimaethoriel, the clan's current Keeper and formerly his mother's First. She was older than most former apprentices, and took to the Keeper role in stride. He quickly darted in her direction, to find her treating Azni. The elder was unconscious, breathing labored while the Keeper worked her healing magic.

"Keeper, what happened?" He asked, straining to keep from yelling and showing his rage. The Keeper looked up at him sharply, seeing stress and barely suppressed anger in her eyes. So she was angry too. "You have to go find them, da'len. Feladara went after the slavers against my warnings. They stole many of the children. I sent some hunters after him to help, but I fear something has gone wrong."

By the time she finished, he was already turning to run, aware that such a large group couldn't have gotten far and would be easy enough to track. "I'll do so, hah'ren. Stay safe."

Something glittered in her eyes, an emotion resembling sorrow. She nodded once in acknowledgement. "May Fen'harel never hear your steps, da'len. Now go."

And go he did, whirling like a force of nature to follow the worst of the destruction.

When he finally reached the end of the slaver's trail, what he came to find was something out of a nightmare, worse than what he had come from. The camp might have been on fire, but the destruction there was clear cut. Understandable, even.

This was horrifying.

The bodies of dead children littered the ground, some still alive but not for much longer. They called weakly for mamae, for brother and sister, little bodies twitching and beyond help. Some of the slavers also lay dead, a stray arrow to the throat or frozen solid by ice that Azazel knew to be Feladara's magic. However, another thing he disliked was that he soon found the bodies of the hunters sent to help the First, but no sign of Feladara himself.

His heart constricted in his chest as he stepped through the carnage. This would be forever stuck in his memories, the sickly sweet smell of death. However, a small part of him felt relieved and ill when he found an intact cage. The atrocity was despicable, but it meant some children were still alive and maybe unhurt.

As he stepped towards the cage, he swallowed harshly, realizing there were only a few kids in there from his clan. Maybe three or four. The others he didn't know, and they were all too young to determine if they were city or Dalish children by vallaslin. Nonetheless, he was quick to run to the bars and attack the lock, trying not to look at their little faces and glad he had learned more skills than simply the way of the bow.

It was while he was messing with the lock that one of the children got the courage to push his way through the others to the front, crying in a familiar voice. "Azzy! They killed mamae! Ma Halani!" Help me!

That got his attention just as the lock finally gave in, and he looked up sharply to meet wild emerald with big, fearful brown. It was Sulahn, a kid who's mother had been friends with his own, before the illness had taken her. Sulahn had taken to him like an older brother, looking up to the hunter and idealizing him much in the same way that Azazel himself had at his age with the Mahariel of Sabre. It made his heart lurch again with sympathy, the loss of his own mother fresher than the vallaslin on his face.

He wrenched the gate open, scooping Sulahn up into his arms even as the other children stirred, some sobbing as they all scrambled out of the cage and attached themselves to his legs. He was quick to hoist the boy on his hips and shepherd the children away, to the forest. "Don't worry, da'assan, my little arrow. You're all free. I'll make the shemlen pay."

That was when Sulahn tried to stop him, struggling suddenly in his hold until Azazel was forced to set him down with the other children. The raven-haired elf's brow furrowed, crinkling the vallaslin in an almost comical way as he crouched to the boy's height. "What is it, da'assan? I need to get all of you to the Keeper."

Sulahn's eyes were wide for his tiny face, shiny with tears. The boy pushed him lightly. "Dara came! He was too busy fighting to free us. He's hurt, they were hurting him! Gilas halani!" Go help! Azazel's own eyes widened at that. But the children needed help, and the clan needed their First-"Gilas Halani!" The boy repeated, firmer. "I know where to go! I'll lead the others!" Azazel looked torn, but even though the kid was too young for vallaslin, he was old enough to hunt. And the boy was one of the few who understood how he felt about the Keeper's First. A fierce look given to him by the boy made him cave in to his heart.

Azazel finally nodded, a slow, hesitant motion as he reached a hand to brush back the boy's greasy brown bangs, and kissed his forehead. Then, he stood. When he spoke, it was strictly in elvhen, words tight and formal but strained with a lot of emotion. "Ma serannas, da'assan."

My thanks, little arrow.

Out of respect, so much understanding and responsibility in a tiny body, he pretended not to notice that the older elf had been trembling.

* * *

Notes:

This was a little brain child of mine that for once, I'm quite proud of. I've seen so many other people come up with backgrounds for their Inquisitors, and it was high time I've shown mine.

It's set about a year or so before the Conclave, and shows that my Lavellan's been with someone before Dorian, and used to hate people from Tevinter for a reason.

He's much calmer and more good-humored during Inquisition, but I imagined this wasn't always the case. It wasn't until after the first person he loved taught him a few things before the Conclave, and the huge clan that the Inquisition became helped him heal.

Warning, I use a lot of Elvhen in this. Tell me if I forget to translate anything, but usually the translations are in the words.


	2. Beautiful and Terrible

The moment he got there he was glad that Sulahn had pushed him away. Any later would have been too late, and he thanked the Creators for giving him such a blessing. The boy may be younger, but he felt as though they were twin souls, brothers in spirit much like Dirthamen and Falon'din.

The view of what was going on was a lot easier for Azazel to wrap his head around, than most of the chaos of that day.

Out in front of him lay an open clearing, where several goons and slavers stood in a circle, some jeering and others angry, their curse of 'knife ear' and 'wild beast', 'abomination' and 'dirty apostate' loud enough to carry to anyone's ears. Being an elf, he could hear them with perfect clarity.

However, worse than the wolf circle or the insults was realizing who their prey was. Feladara lay kneeling in the center, robes torn and bloodied, his long auburn hair, normal so well braided was loose and matted with more blood. The First seemed to have a head injury, but was far from cowed. His amber eyes were wild, normally soft and gently like his personality and reflecting his affinity for healing. They were angry and desperate, with a lot of grief thrown in too for good measure.

Lyrium bottles were smashed around him too, signs that he was depleted of magic and his potions had been used up.

The worst of it all-There was fire blazing in his hands, hands that were used to heal and not harm. Feladara had always said that he hated the Fire School of magic, because of how painful burns were. They had really made him every bit of the cornered animal if they pushed the healer to that, and that frightened Azazel. Feladara's staff was broken into splinters, which meant the First was channeling raw Fade on top of it all. That was dangerous and attracted demons, and downright deadly when paired with magical exhaustion already in play.

One of the men in particular sneered at the healer. The human was missing a tooth or two, and had an Ironbark pendant around his neck, presumably part of the spoils of one of his disgusting 'conquests'.

"I'm gonna gut ya like a fish, little elf. You, tryin' ta free my catch and turnin' my brother ta ash. You're a pretty lil' thing, such spirit. But slavery's too good for ya."

Feladara gave him a smile, then. It was not the gentle, reassuring one he gave to a child as he mended a broken leg, or the soft, happy one given to Azazel alone in private moments.

It was a mocking one, angry and grieved. The expression a wounded animal made when poked with a stick too many times.

"I'm interested in seeing you try, da'len." He responded, voice calm and controlled, so sharp in contrast to his current appearance yet so achingly familiar.

That cruel sneer contorted on the Vint's face then, twisting into an ugly snarl. "I won't try, knife-ear." A snap of his fingers and another human stepped forward, brandishing a club. He raised it up to strike the healer, and Feladara's palms flared fire in warning, fear in his amber eyes-

A whistling sound, something cutting through the air before being followed by a thud. The club hit the ground and it's wielder made a sickly gurgle, blood dripping from his mouth. He fell at Feladara's feet, an arrow lodged in the man's neck. The healer gasped, turning a ghostly white at the sight, not enjoying it at all.

Two more thuds followed in rapid succession, two more humans down before they noticed where the arrows were coming from.

Striding determinedly towards them, Azazel continued to shoot as he moved fluidly, like the wild hunter he was. However, he was hunting wolves now, and had a halla to save. The wolves would bite back, he knew. And they did.

The Vint with the missing teeth barked orders while more of his number fell, the healer forgotten in the chaos the new arrival wrought. Arrows shot back at the hunter, and he dodged, not in the least slowed. However, one managed to graze his shoulder, tearing through the skin on it's flight. Pain flared up and he began to bleed, red soaking his shirt as he bit back a cry, but still kept going. He heard his name, distantly. Feladara yelling for him, but Azazel paid it no heed.

The elf didn't falter, but he did grimace. With a shoulder wound, any more arrows would go wide, so with some regret he tossed the bow aside as he closed in, pulling out his blades. His emerald eyes glittered, Falon'din's marks on him all the more sharp against his pale skin, and it only made him look all the more feral.

Some of the remaining men faltered then, little shem minds becoming overridden with fear. Their leader, the Vint, snapped at them, and with reluctance the first one yelled, rushing at him, and the elf grinned. Normally he didn't enjoy death despite his patron, but these shems slaughtered his people and took Feladara and the children.

They deserved it.

The first one attacked him blindly, attempting too wide of a swing at his head. The elf easily sidestepped this, spun, and struck, his dagger biting into the man's throat, splattering an arch of crimson onto the grass.

The next one was faster and came from behind, not that long after his friend fell. But Azazel heard him and kicked the man in the ribs, knocking him back before swinging around and gouging the man in the eye. The human screamed, a pained, dying sound before slumping on the blade, which the hunter tore out just in time to meet the next.

Just to add to their fear, Azazel laughed, letting his bloodlust and rage bubble to the surface, and spoke the elvhen tongue just to scare them. "Ma emma harel, shemlen!"*

They may not know the words, but the meaning seemed to carry well enough.

Their were only two besides the leader remaining, and they finally seemed to forget their orders. In full blown terror, they dropped their weapons and turned tail, running off full pelt. The hunter let them, pausing for a moment to wipe sweat from his forehead. His chest heaved, taking harsh breaths which only seemed to hurt his shoulder more.

Feladara was standing, and the battered mage took a hesitant step towards him. "Ma serannas, Azazel. It's over, I'm safe." He murmured softly in the same tone often used to calm a spooked halla, in danger of bolting.

Azazel didn't know when, but he had started trembling faintly. His emotions were in a crazy spiral, no control. He couldn't know where fear began and anger ended.

He was almost tempted to give in to the healer's soft voice when a twig snapped. No more was the trembling creature, replaced by the expression of a predator, beautiful and terrible.

Azazel let out a growl, then. Almost feral sounding, and the leader of the group took a wary step back. He looked terrified, much like his own men had, but there was rage in the human's eyes too. He hated them more than he was scared.

"I knew ya elves were savages. The lot'o ya are monsters."

That was the wrong thing to say, and Azazel was about to show him as much-

"Don't listen to him, the human's just frightened. Let's go back, the Keeper needs us." Honestly, Feladara was always his voice of reason. But now, he ignored the amber eyes that pleaded with him to understand. The healer actually wanted him to spare their tormentor!

The raven-haired elf spared a moment to give his companion a withering glance. "Go home? It's because of this man, this shem that half of our clan is dead! Sulahn's mother is dead. The aravels are ash, and the bastard tortured you! He stole our children!" Azazel spat on the ground, and added in a quieter tone. "This man doesn't need your pity, Feladara. We let him go, and he'll just hurt more of our people. He doesn't deserve your kindness."

Feladara opened his mouth, another plea ready on his lips, but the other elf would hear no more. The man they had temporarily forgotten suddenly rushed at Azazel with a yell, a cheap sword in hand. Without blinking, despite the wound in his shoulder, the hunter twisted, catching the man's wrists and forcibly tackling him to the ground. A yelp came from his prey, and though he was pinned, the human still struggled, sputtering curses. But Azazel was an accomplished hunter, used to struggling animals far stronger, and his slight form was deceptively strong. It took a bit, but soon enough, sharp metal was lightly kissing the skin of his prey's throat.

But before he could make the killing blow, Feladara's calm voice cut through the red fog of rage. "Wait, how can you be sure he'll do this again? His men are dead or cowards, and he has no one to deal with the children. This trip has cost him." Such a naive question, Azazel would have laughed had the gesture not been bad for his health. He was panting, having trouble breathing with every protest his shoulder made, and his grip on the dagger didn't waver.

Did Feladara not see the Ironbark around the human's neck? The joy he took in this entire situation? With all of this on his mind, paired with physical problems it took nearly a full minute for Azazel to respond. It was short instead, and he shrugged, hiding a wince. "He's of Tevinter." The hunter mumbled, as if that was all the reason he needed. The magisters would miss their possible slaves over the hired help, after all.

"Azazel." The healer said softly, sighing. "Killing him will not fix anything, either. And killing him will only prove the human's point." His expression was gentle, if a bit pained, and despite how horrible the healer's appearance, his words were firm. Had Azazel been paying closer attention, however, he might have noticed the pained and distracted look in Feladara's amber eyes, as though he was having trouble focusing. If the hunter had, though, he could have easily thought it caused by the head wound or magical exhaustion.

"Let me go, elf!" The human snapped, but didn't dare move. Azazel's grip on the blade handle tightened, and he hissed in warning. "S-Shut up, shem!" His voice cracked then, emotions in turmoil. Feladara, for all his distraction, managed to pick up on that. "You're a hunter, not a murderer. You don't enjoy this." And those were the words he needed to hear.

Azazel's resolve crumbled completely then, and he pushed himself roughly off of the human. "Dead Wolf take you. Get out of my sight." He hissed, stepping out of range.

"Thank ya, I'm not too keen on dying." The Vint muttered as he picked himself up. The hunter snarled. "Take your thanks and shove it up your Maker's-"

"But rabbits, I haven't treated you two to what you deserve." The glint of the weapon the human came at him with shown in the moonlight, and the man suddenly threw it. The whistle of wind, a thud and a gasp of pain. Azazel's eyes went wide.

* * *

Notes:

*- Translates to: You should fear me, quick children!"

I named Feladara on purpose. He's a First, adept with healing. And Feladara is the elvhen word for Elfroot, a common herb used in health potions.


	3. Waking Sleep

Feladara made a soft little noise, barely a whisper, and looked at Azazel with a surprised expression as the human turned to run.

"Oh." One word, as the healer grasped weakly at the hilt of the sword embedded in his chest, point sticking out of his back. His tattered green robes were being dyed crimson. Red looked strange with green and amber.

Azazel screamed, the sound primal and agonized. So many emotions carried in one cry. Rage, grief and agony just three of them. His green eyes were manic, wild with the pupils turned to slits. For all the human knew, he had just stepped on the Dread Wolf's tail.

As Feladara slid to the forest floor, the hunter gripped his dagger with enough strength to make the wooden hilt groan from the strain. With deadly accuracy it flew, singing vengeance through the air and biting deep into the human's spine. He fell like a stone, dead instantly, but Azazel couldn't bring himself to care.

He was just as quick to whip around, rushing to Feladara's side. "No! No, no!" He fell to his knees, gathering the other elf up in his arms. Only one look, and the hunter knew the strike was fatal. The heart was probably the intended target, but it had still completed it's purpose. It had punched through the healer's lung.

Feladara was shaking, trembling and gasping as he tried to get air into his ruined lungs. Blood bubbled on his lips and dribbled down his chin, dyeing the skin a cherry red.

"A-Azzy, I'm-" He coughed again, and Azazel cradled his head, trembling fingers worn by years with a bow ran soothingly through auburn strands. "Hush, Dara. Abelas, ir abelas." Sorrow, my sorrow. His eyes watered, threatening tears.

Against Azazel's wishes Feladara continued to try and speak. The urge to get words out was strong, spurred on by the use of a nickname not uttered by the hunter since they were children. "N-Not your fault. Should've had my barriers." He offered a weak smile.

Azazel shook his head, ready to protest, but didn't utter a word. The healer took that as permission to continue. "Don't ruin your life for me. Find someone to love-" He broke off into more coughing, blood spattering on Azazel's tunic. The hunter paid it no mind.

"Don't talk like that, I'll get you to the Keeper-"

"N-No. Don't let your father get in the way of your wishes-But don't reject him." Feladara's eyes were now a pale yellow, cloudy and dimming like a flickering candle flame. Every breath he took rattled in his chest and throat, while every second the pause between each gasp grew longer. A bloody hand gently grasped the side of Azazel's face, deceptively small, and as deep forest emerald and cloudy amber met, the hunter engulfed that hand with his own. "Emma souveri, ma'vhenan. Ar lath ma."*

With those words, the last breath from his tattered lungs came forth, gaze drifting to stare at the stares before he shuddered. His hand slackened, slipping from Azazel's own to drop, useless at the healer's side, and he smiled faintly before going still.

Almost like a wave, a tremble shook through the remaining elf. It started from his soul, to the entire whole of his being, shoulders quaking with the weight. His wound's protest felt like a fuzzy memory. Tears fell, falling into Feladara's hair, and numbly, he lowered his hand from his face and closed the healer's eyes, knowing that never again would those amber eyes gaze at him with love or concern, or happiness. "Dareth shiral, ma'nehn."** He murmured, and the first sob tore it's way out of him. And then he found himself unable to stop, the first man he loved cradled in his arms.

* * *

Notes:

This one was shorter than the other two, but I couldn't help that.

Here you go, though.

*-Translates: I'm so tired, my heart. I love you.

**-Translates: Safe journey, my joy.


End file.
